


a few more sundays

by nightswatch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sirius arrives at Remus' cottage after Voldemort's return, Remus isn't really sure how to deal with living with Sirius again all of a sudden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a few more sundays

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译] a few more sundays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163894) by [furrylittleprob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furrylittleprob/pseuds/furrylittleprob)



Remus stares out the window, absent-mindedly poking at his cup of tea with his wand. It’s gone cold. It happens a lot these days. It’s the end of June and the late afternoon sun is lighting up Remus’ tiny kitchen, a light salty breeze wafting in through the open window, and Remus waits.

He knows Sirius is going to arrive soon. He could appear on his doorstep any minute now, although Remus doesn’t actually expect it to happen while the sun is still up. It’s not safe for him to travel in broad daylight. And yet Remus’ eyes keep wandering away from his work and to the window.

The letter he received on the twenty-fourth was rather sparse on information. Of course Remus was following the news on the Triwizard Tournament and Sirius sent him the occasional letter, so Remus has been expecting something like this to happen for quite some time, but other than that he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. In the end he can only guess.

Well, he knows that Sirius isn’t coming straight to his cottage, because there are other people he has to see. Old members of the Order, Remus assumes. There is much to be done, but Dumbledore must have been making plans for a while, he must have read the signs, just like many others did.

With a weary sigh, Remus forces his eyes back on his work. He’s lucky he has any work at all. He does the odd job here and there – mostly it’s translations, some reviewing, an essay every now and again. Whatever he can do, as long as he can do it at home. They always notice when he fails to come into work once a month. Paired with his savings, the money he makes is just enough for the bare necessities – and the potion. It’s much more than he’s ever hoped for. He’s always known that there’ll never be a time or a place where it’s easy for a werewolf to find a job, not during his lifetime, at least.

Remus yawns. He’s always been a light sleeper, has been sleeping with his wand within arm’s reach for years, but now that he knows that he’ll be having company soon, he’s even more on edge than on any other given day. Every rustle, every crack, every gust of wind had him sitting upright in bed during the last few days. But it was never Sirius knocking, never Padfoot scratching at his door.

The lines of the text he’s trying to translate start blurring before his eyes. Remus pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a sip of his tea, which is now much too hot and burns his tongue. He sets down the cup and rubs his eyes, telling himself over and over again that Sirius surely won’t be arriving during the next couple of hours, that he needs to stop being so dreadfully unfocused. Sirius has that kind of effect on him. It’s nothing new and yet it’s surprising that he still does, after all these years. “Ridiculous,” Remus mutters to himself.

For dinner there’s leftovers, although his small fridge is well-stocked. He doesn’t know what Sirius likes to eat these days, all Remus remembers is Sirius getting fish and chips from the questionable-looking shop down the street from their tiny flat in London. Remus picks up the tea again, stares down at it, ponders.

He hasn’t seen Sirius in a year and he wonders what he’ll look like when he finally turns up. If Sirius has been in hiding around Hogwarts, it must have been hard for him to come by food, it must have been hard to get a good night’s sleep, although Sirius probably isn’t able get a good night’s sleep no matter where he is. Azkaban doesn’t leave wizards even when they are there for only as much as a few weeks, so what must it be like after years and years?

Remus made sure that the cottage looks decent enough, because according to Dumbledore’s letter Sirius will be staying for a while. _For the time being._ No further instructions.

Reaching for his quill, Remus makes an effort not to dwell on the thought of him and Sirius staying in his tiny run-down cottage for an indefinite amount of time. He tries not to wonder what on earth they are going to do. Remus stares down at the scroll of parchment he’s working on, his thoughts still wandering at their own will. He reads a few lines. Reads them again. He still doesn’t know what they say. After a moment’s consideration, Remus sets down the quill without ever dipping it into ink. His tea has gone cold again.

It only takes a tap of his wand and steam is rising up from the cup again. He can keep playing this game, but he eventually decides that he might as well give up. Remus picks up the cup and a book and walks out the door. There’s a bench behind the house, overlooking the beach and the sea. The sand is completely untouched. Remus likes to go for walks every now and again, but he doesn’t stray too far from his cottage anymore, now that he knows that Sirius will be joining him soon.

Sometimes he sees Muggle hikers, but they never come anywhere near the cottage. The closest wizarding village is still miles and miles away. The apothecary there, thankfully, is a capable wizard, who sells him the Wolfsbane potion each month without ever batting an eye. Remus often wonders if Dumbledore has made some sort of deal with him or if he’s just not as prejudiced as the regular wizard.

Remus summons a blanket that comes flying into his lap through the open window. The sun is still out, but the wind is chilly. He wraps himself up and slowly sips his tea. When the light starts to fade, he stops reading, but he watches the waves roll in for a little while longer before he finally goes back inside. He has all sorts of spells cast in and around the house to make sure that he won’t end up with a Death Eater looming over him in the middle of the night – or the day – but he’s lifted some of them to ensure that Sirius will be able find the cottage, so Remus makes sure that the windows are closed and the door is locked before he retreats to the bedroom.

He might as well try to get some sleep. Remus leaves the bedroom door open, just in case, and then reads a few more pages until his eyes start to hurt. He should be used to dealing with the lack of sleep by now, but it seems to him that it becomes worse the older he gets.

Remus isn’t sure if he’s actually asleep when he hears the scratching at the door. He doesn’t know if it’s the wind, or if he’s just imagining it, but then a dog barks and Remus nearly trips over his own feet when he stumbles out of bed, wand in hand.

When he yanks the door open, Remus finds Padfoot on his doorstep, skinny and with tangled fur, tail wagging as he looks up at Remus. Remus, in turn, smiles down at him. “Come on in, then.”

Padfoot does, paws tapping on the floor. Remus forgets for a moment that he’s not dealing with an actual dog and bends down to scratch him behind the ears, then he peers outside to make sure that the narrow path that leads to the cottage is deserted and that there’s no one lurking in the shrubbery. It’s a clear night; everything seems quiet.

“I’m pretty sure that no one followed me,” Sirius rasps.

Remus spins around, forgetting that his front door is open. Sirius is standing there, casually leaning against the wall, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Good,” Remus manages to say.

“Door,” Sirius says and nods at the open door.

“Yes,” Remus mumbles and pushes it shut. He puts up the warding charms he usually has in place and Sirius waits patiently until Remus lowers his wand and turns around to face him again. He’s not sure if he should say something as simple as _hello_ , because it doesn’t seem like it’s enough, so he crosses the distance between them and puts his arms around Sirius.

Sirius seems surprised at first, and freezes up for a second before he hugs him back. Remus isn’t sure when Sirius was hugged the last time, he doesn’t remember the last time anyone hugged _him_ like this and finds that he really doesn’t want to let go. Sirius’ chin is on his shoulder and he’s so thin and he smells faintly of wet dog and they haven’t seen each other in a year and Remus thinks this should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t. He’ll just hold on as long as Sirius does.

“It’s good to see you,” Sirius says eventually. His voice sounds rough and foreign and yet Remus is so glad to hear it. He lets go and Remus makes himself do the same.

“How are you?” Remus asks. “Have you... What is...” There are too many things he wants to know. He shakes his head. He’s getting ahead of himself. “Come on, let’s sit down.” He leads Sirius into his kitchen and Sirius drops the small bag he’s been carrying by the door. “Tea?” For once, he wishes he had something stronger.

Sirius nods and sinks into one of the chairs by the window. It protests with a loud creak. Remus makes the tea the Muggle way, the complicated way, because it keeps his hands busy. The tea is done eventually and Remus has to sit down and actually look at Sirius. His hair is tangled, much like Padfoot’s fur, and he doesn’t look quite as much like a walking skeleton as he did a year ago when they last saw each other in the Shrieking Shack, but he doesn’t look healthy either. “Food,” Remus said, somewhat distracted. “Do you want anything to eat? I have soup and bread and–”

Sirius silences him with a shake of his head. “Dung fed me, no worries.”

Remus still gets a couple of biscuits because he can’t possibly sit still right now, but it takes mere seconds and soon enough he’s sitting back at the table. “So, did you...” Once again, Remus doesn’t finish his question, because he realizes that he doesn’t even know what he’s asking halfway. First things first. “Is Harry all right?”

“He’s going to stay with his aunt and uncle until... well, until Dumbledore says he can leave, I suppose. Blimey, he has us all whipped, doesn’t he?”

Remus gives him a small smile. “Who’d you pay a visit?”

“Bunch of the old gang,” Sirius says with a shrug. “Well, whoever’s left, anyway. Weren’t too surprised to see me, most of them. I guess Dumbledore told you I was coming? Did he happen to mention that he wants me to...”

“Stay?” Remus finishes. “Yes, he mentioned that.”

Sirius nods. “I’m sorry, I know this must be inconvenient for you, but–”

“It’s quite all right,” Remus interrupts. “I know this place isn’t exactly... well, it’s old and cramped and about to fall apart.”

“Better than a cave,” Sirius says and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Do you...” Remus takes a deep breath. “Do you know what happened?”

Sirius nods. But he doesn’t say anything and it takes Remus a moment to realise that he’s steeling himself. It must be a horrible story to retell and Remus shouldn’t have asked, not now, he should have sent Sirius off to bed first, should have let him get some rest before he sprung that sort of question on him.

“You don’t have to... we don’t need to talk about it right now,” Remus says quickly. “It can wait.”

But then Sirius starts speaking and Remus doesn’t interrupt him, because it’s probably hard enough as it is, and Sirius’ voice cracks when he talks about James and Lily. Remus wants to reach out then, but he just drops his hand on the table in the end. When Sirius is done, Remus doesn’t know what to say.

“He looks so much like him,” Sirius says after a moment.

Remus looks down at his untouched cup of tea. “I know.”

Sirius takes a biscuit, nibbles at it, then he eyes the scrolls of parchment that Remus pushed aside earlier.

“It’s work,” Remus says. He just wants to fill the silence somehow. “It’s not... well, it’s something.” He takes a sip of his nearly cold tea. “How did you get here, by the way?”

“I tried to apparate,” Sirius says and barks out a laugh. “My aim was miles off, unsurprisingly. I’ve been trying to practise, you know, to get back into it, but it apparently didn’t do much good. Thought it’d be safer to walk the rest of the way as Padfoot, just in case.”

“You must be tired,” Remus says. “I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed for you, just give me a moment.”

Sirius is quick to reach out, skinny fingers wrapping around Remus’ wrist. He looks almost surprised that he did it. “No, don’t...” Sirius lets go of him. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Maybe Remus is a little relieved that Sirius is trying to make this easy for him and that they don’t need to have a conversation that might end with them agreeing that they could just share the bed. Except that they do, because Sirius can’t sleep on his sofa. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen my sofa,” Remus mutters. It’s a leftover from the 70s – not from their flat, Remus couldn’t have stood looking at it day in day out – and it smells musty and one of the springs is poking through the fabric and it’s definitely not big enough for Sirius.

“Let’s have a look, shall we,” Sirius says and gets to his feet.

Remus follows him and joins Sirius in staring at his sofa. “See what I mean?”

“Padfoot is going to sleep on the sofa, then,” Sirius says. “Don’t mind sleeping as a dog. And he’ll fall asleep anywhere, I’m sure you remember.”

Remus also remembers that _Sirius_ always fell asleep everywhere. “If you’re sure,” Remus only says. There it is again. _Relief_.

Sirius doesn’t reply and then Padfoot is standing next to Remus, snuffling quietly. He gives Remus’ leg a nudge and jumps onto the sofa. And Remus knows that Padfoot won’t get cold, but he still gets him a blanket and carefully drapes it over him.

“Sleep well,” Remus says and refrains from petting Padfoot this time. “Bathroom’s in the back, I’ll put out a towel for you. Wake me up if you need anything.”

Padfoot only yawns in reply.

The lights turn off with a flick of his wand and for a moment Remus thinks about cleaning up the kitchen, but he doesn’t want to keep Sirius up, so he decides to leave it for the morning. He turns in the doorway to cast one last glance at the dog that’s curled up on his sofa. It’s such a familiar sight and it makes Remus’ heart ache. He tears his eyes away after what feels like an eternity. He can only hope that Sirius is asleep already and didn’t catch him staring.

Remus needs to take a moment to just breathe when he’s slipped back into bed. Sirius is here, finally here, and there’s only one very unstable wall between them right now. Remus wonders if he should have left the door open, but he did tell Sirius to let him know if there’s anything he needs and Sirius has been managing on his own for a while now. All Remus needs to do is go to sleep, so he won’t be completely useless tomorrow.

He screws his eyes shut and he does fall asleep at some point, but when he wakes up again it’s still dark and he’s not quite sure what roused him. Remus stares into the darkness, listening closely. He tells himself that there’s no need to check on Sirius, Sirius is just fine. Eventually Remus decides that he’s just being paranoid and that it was probably the wind that woke him up. This time, it only takes a moment for him to fall asleep again.

* * *

When he gets up in the morning, Remus pulls on his dressing gown. He wants to go for a shower, but it’s still early and he wants to see if Sirius is all right first. Padfoot isn’t curled up on the sofa anymore when Remus peers into the living room, so he moves on to the kitchen. There are only so many places Sirius could be; the cottage isn’t that big.

He is in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. The kitchen is clean, the teacups from last night are back where they belong. Remus watches Sirius for a moment, trying not to think of him, just a boy, raiding their fridge in the middle of the night, buck-naked and humming a song. Needless to say, Remus fails miserably. Sirius pulls out a jar of jam and studies the label.

Remus clears his throat and Sirius jumps, the jar shattering on the tiled floor. Sirius curses under his breath, looking like a five-year-old who got caught stealing sweets. “Sorry,” Sirius mutters.

“I should apologize,” Remus says. He waves his wand and the mess on the floor cleans itself up. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up so soon.” Sirius pushes the fridge shut and leans against the counter. Remus doesn’t ask Sirius why _he_ is up this early. “I wasn’t... I mean, I’ll pay you back. For the food. I just don’t... I gave all the money I had to Dung. For this.” He holds up a wand. “Same as my old one. Merlin knows how he got it. Wanted to sell me a flying carpet at first, so I’d get here faster.”

Remus smiles. “He always has _something_ to sell, doesn’t he?” he mumbles. “Where’s Buckbeak, by the way?” Remus almost expected Sirius to show up with him and he really wouldn’t have known where to hide a full-grown hippogriff. He does have a small shed out in the back, but it’s nowhere near big enough. It’s barely big enough for the wolf.

“Still where I left him, I suppose. Dumbledore will make sure he’s fine until we have a better place to put him, but travelling is a tad easier without him. You know, less conspicuous.”

Remus nods. “Why don’t I take care of breakfast?”

Sirius doesn’t protest. He nods at the door. “Do you mind if I...”

“Of course. Do you want to borrow some clothes?” Not that he has anything that’ll fit Sirius, but the Muggle clothes Sirius is wearing right now are loose on him as well.

Sirius picks up the bag that he left by the kitchen door last night. “No, I’m good.”

Then Remus is left alone in his kitchen and for a moment he thinks he’s forgotten how to make breakfast. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the bread. That’s always a good place to start. He makes eggs, too, and he puts on the kettle, and he’s not at all prepared when Sirius shuffles back into the kitchen, feet bare and his hair dripping. And what’s even worse, he shouldn’t have to be prepared. Sirius shouldn’t throw him off like this.

The clothes he’s wearing now fit him a little better, although the threadbare grey shirt still hangs off his shoulders. “Nice to have a shower,” Sirius mumbles, and Remus isn’t certain if he’s just talking about showering in general or if he’s talking about actually living in a house with a shower. “Do you need help?”

“No, take a seat,” Remus says and sets down a cup of tea on the table. He’s not doing the actual cooking, he’s just overseeing what he’s set in motion with his wand, so the curtains won’t catch on fire. He can feel Sirius’ eyes boring into him. “How was the sofa?” Remus asks, eyes still on the stove.

Sirius doesn’t answer for a moment. “The sofa was fine,” he says.

Carefully chosen words, they are. The sofa was fine, but that doesn’t mean that he slept well. Remus doesn’t ask any more questions. He busies himself with dividing up the eggs, but puts a little more on Sirius’ plate, because even though he does believe Sirius when he says that all the people he visited during the last week didn’t let him starve, he still looks like he could use a big breakfast.

Sirius mumbles a _thank you_ when Remus hands him his plate, then they fall silent, and Sirius keeps his eyes firmly on his food. When they’re both done, Sirius clears his throat. “I suppose you have to, um, work?”

Remus should be doing work, yes. He just isn’t sure if he’ll be able to concentrate, knowing that Sirius is somewhere in the cottage. “I’ll do some later, but if there’s anything you need, I can–”

“Actually, do you have an owl?” Sirius asks. “To let Dumbledore know I’m here.”

“I do, she should be back soon.” Remus sent her off yesterday morning to return one of the translations he’d finished. “Feel free to borrow her. And, well... make yourself at home.”

“Maybe I’ll take a look at that Muggle television you have in the living room.”

Remus bites his lip. “That one is broken, actually. Has been broken ever since before I went to teach at Hogwarts. I never had the time to find a Muggle to fix it.” He never had the money to pay a Muggle to fix it either. He tried fixing it with his wand, but Muggle technology is easier to mess with than it is to fix and since he was never quite sure what exactly was broken, he didn’t even know where to start. “You’re welcome to do with it whatever you want.”

Remus goes to take care of the dishes, but Sirius shoos him away. “I can do that,” he says. “Seriously, just do whatever you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

“I’d do the dishes, actually.” Remus smiles. “But if you insist...”

“Yes,” Sirius says firmly and takes Remus’ plate from him. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Sirius, you being here is not an imposition,” Remus says. He needs Sirius to understand that; he won’t have him feeling guilty for being here. “I’m glad Dumbledore sent you.”

Sirius carefully puts the dishes in the sink, jaw set. “Well, just tell me if I’m in the way or–”

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus says again, but he leaves it at that. When Sirius doesn’t look at him, Remus pads off to the bathroom. Back in the day, Sirius would have eaten the contents of his fridge without batting an eye, he would have crawled into bed with him at night and would have said something like _sharing is caring_ , and then he would have tried to get into his pants and hogged the covers. The thought makes Remus feel strangely nostalgic. He knows they’ll never go back there. Sirius isn’t the only one who’s changed.

On his way back to the kitchen, Remus catches a glimpse of Sirius sitting on the living room rug, already taking apart the television and poking at it with his wand. So that is Sirius taken care of, at least for now. Maybe not _everything_ has changed.

* * *

“I think I made it worse,” Sirius says when he comes into the kitchen about two hours later.

Remus, still brooding over a translation, looks up. “It was broken. It can’t be more broken than it already was.”

“Oh, you severely underestimate my gift to fuck things up,” Sirius says. “You don’t happen to have any Muggle tools, do you?”

“Maybe in the shed,” Remus muses. Sirius would have done great working in Muggle relations. His family would have been appalled, of course, but that makes Remus so sure that Sirius would have liked it. He pushes the thought away quickly. “Outside, to the left.”

Sirius is still standing in the door, looking unsure.

It takes Remus a moment to realise why he hasn’t moved. “No one comes here, usually. You should be fine to go outside.”

Sirius nods and turns to go, and a moment later Remus can hear Padfoot’s feet on the gravel outside. Remus is immersed in his work again when the door closes and Sirius is back with a small toolbox in hand.

“There are a lot of locks on that door,” Sirius says. “On the inside. Is that where you go for the full moon?”

“I used to,” Remus says. A drop of ink splashes on the table. “Not since I’m using the Wolfsbane potion.”

“Right, there’s a potion now,” Sirius says. “You’ll have to tell me how that works sometime.”

Remus nods. The next full moon is in the middle of July and maybe Sirius will still be here then. Remus isn’t sure if he wants him to be or not. The more time he spends with Sirius, the harder it will be for him to convince himself that whatever he once felt for Sirius is absolutely and without a doubt a thing of the past.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Sirius disappears and a while later Remus can hear him cursing colourfully. Remus makes sandwiches for lunch and brings them to Sirius, who has somehow managed to take that television apart completely. The living room is a mess and Sirius is right in the middle of it, a look of immense concentration on his face.

His owl returns in the afternoon and Remus gives her some water and food before he sends her off again with a note to Dumbledore. He can hear Sirius hum in the living room, hears him walk to the bathroom, then he comes in to get himself some water, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s just _there_ , and it’s distracting, but it’s also reassuring, in a way. Because him being here means that he wasn’t captured by the Ministry, or Dementors, and him causing a ruckus in the living room means that he’s still alive.

* * *

“I’ll clean this all up, I promise,” Sirius says after dinner when the living room still looks like the television has exploded all over it. “Tomorrow.”

“Are you going to put it back together?” Remus asks, even though he highly doubts that Sirius remembers which part goes where.

“Of course,” Sirius says and sits down in the armchair that Remus usually sits in. He picks up the book that Remus has left there a few days ago, just another one of the half-read books that are strewn all over the cottage. “Do you mind?”

Remus isn’t sure if Sirius is actually interested in the magical properties of Mediterranean herbs and plants, but he shrugs. “Go right ahead. He pulls one of his Muggle books off his bookshelf and sits down on the sofa. Sirius must have been extremely tired to have fallen asleep on here, Remus thinks, even if he slept as Padfoot.

Over on the armchair, Sirius is leafing through the book with no real interest. Remus isn’t sure if he should try to fill the silence. There are things he wants to ask Sirius, but he can’t just say, “What have you been up to?” like he’s catching up with someone he was vaguely acquainted with over ten years ago.

In the end, he says nothing and starts to read, trying to ignore Sirius, even when he gets up and looks at the bookshelf, or when he wanders out of the living room and Remus isn’t sure where he went. Sirius returns with two cups of tea, one of which he wordlessly hands to Remus, who whispers a _thank you_.

Remus’ eyelids start drooping eventually. “I think I’m going to...” He trails off. He can’t make Sirius sleep on this horrible sofa again, so they need to figure out their sleeping arrangements first.

Sirius is already on his feet, stretching, and before Remus can say a word, can even form a question in his mind, Sirius says, “Good night,” and turns into Padfoot.

“You know, you can’t sleep on the sofa for the rest of your stay here,” Remus says. “It can’t be comfortable.”

Padfoot, as if to tell him that he doesn’t care, jumps onto the sofa.

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow,” Remus says, because if he says it out loud, there’s a chance that they’ll actually have that talk.

Unsurprisingly, Padfoot doesn’t reply, he just nudges the blanket with his nose, tail wagging.

Remus takes the blanket and drapes it over Padfoot. “Want a pillow, too? Sorry, I should have asked last night.”

Padfoot only closes his eyes and rests his head on his front legs. That’s probably a _no_ , then. Remus wants to pat him on the head for a moment, but then reminds himself that he doesn’t just have an incredibly furry beast of a dog lying on his sofa, it’s actually Sirius and Sirius would not appreciate him patting his head. Although there was a time when he did.

Remus mutters, “Good night,” and leaves Sirius alone. He sleeps relatively well that night – until he wakes up again, not too long after midnight. Once again, it’s completely silent in the little cottage. Remus sits up and listens, and there’s something, a quiet noise that he can’t quite place.

He gets out of bed and goes to investigate. He finds Padfoot on the sofa, whining softly in his sleep. Remus steps closer, not sure what to do. Padfoot is obviously dreaming, and Remus thinks that he should probably wake him up, because whatever dream he’s having is not a nice one. Slowly, so he won’t accidentally scare him again, Remus steps over to the sofa and kneels down next to Padfoot. “Sirius,” Remus whispers, “Sirius, wake up.”

Padfoot twitches and Remus has to gently shake him one more time before he opens his eyes. He doesn’t turn back into Sirius, he just blinks at him sleepily.

“You were dreaming,” Remus says lowly.

Padfoot whines again and this time Remus doesn’t think too long about whether or not it’s alright to pat his head, he just does it and smiles when Padfoot nuzzles against his hand.

Now that he thinks about it, Remus is almost sure that it was Sirius who woke him up last night as well. “Come on,” Remus says and stands up. He waits until Padfoot has hopped off the sofa and then takes the blanket and walks back to his bedroom, Padfoot at his heels.

Remus climbs back into bed, scoots all the way over and pats the empty space next to him. Padfoot, who’s been waiting by the door, jumps up onto the bed, pads around on the mattress in a circle, once, twice, then he lies down at the foot of the bed and Remus tucks him in. Padfoot seems to like the blanket, even though it’s summer and it’s reasonably warm. It’s probably Azkaban, still chilling his bones, even now that he’s escaped. Wishing Sirius a good night one more time, Remus tucks himself in and closes his eyes.

Padfoot is still there in the morning. Remus knows because there’s something warm and heavy lying on his legs. He’s woken up much later than yesterday; the sun is up and Padfoot is fast asleep right in a patch of sunlight. Remus carefully pulls his feet out from under him and goes to make breakfast. One look into the fridge tells him that he’ll have to go into town to buy food tomorrow.

While he prepares breakfast, Remus listens for footsteps, waiting for Sirius to wake up. He’s already eating when Sirius comes walking into the kitchen. “Remus, I’m–”

“Don’t, it’s all right,” Remus says. There’s no need to explain. And he never expected Sirius to actually sleep on the sofa. “What would you like to eat?”

“Toast is fine,” Sirius says. He puts his hand on Remus’ shoulder when he wants to get up. “I can get it.”

This morning the silence between them is different. Sirius still looks like he wants to apologize and it’s a foreign look on him, but there’s also a kind of understanding between them, and the silence is companionable more than anything else.

“Remus,” Sirius says between bites of toast, “you said that nobody ever comes out here.”

“There are Muggle hikers, occasionally,” Remus says. “But the cottage is warded against Muggles, so they don’t come anywhere near here.”

“What about wizards?”

“Also unlikely to drop by,” Remus says with a shrug.

Sirius hums. “I know I said I’d fix the television today, but it’s really nice outside.”

“You don’t have to fix it at all, just go outside,” Remus says. “And maybe we can go for a walk later.”

So when Remus sits down to get some more work done – he feels himself trying to work much quicker than usual, so he’ll have time for Sirius, just so he won’t be bored out of his mind, of course – Padfoot goes outside to lie in the sand, eyes closed and face turned up against the sun. Remus can see him when he looks out the window.

Sirius comes back inside for lunch and he looks content. Remus hopes that the weather will be nice for a few more days, so Sirius can go outside and forget about the cold stone walls of Azkaban, even if it’s just for a moment.

Remus does get a feeling that Sirius is trying very hard to stay out of his way. He goes back to the living room in the afternoon when clouds start gathering, promising rain. It’s the late afternoon when Remus thinks he can’t possibly sit on that chair any longer and goes to see what Sirius is up to. He’s put the television back together and now he’s mumbling incantations at it, but it doesn’t seem to be going his way and so Sirius sits on the rug, pouting at Muggle technology. For a fleeting moment, he looks like the boy Remus knew at Hogwarts and not the man who’s spent over a decade locked up in Azkaban.

Sirius grins at Remus. “It hates me,” he says gleefully.

“I don’t think it’s sentient,” Remus says. “But if it is and it really does hate you, I don’t think you can blame it, you took it apart after all.”

Sirius gasps. “Are you siding with the Muggle device?”

“Actually, I just wanted to tell you that I’m going for a walk before it starts to rain. Do you want to come?”

“Padfoot does,” Sirius says and then Padfoot is standing on the rug. He circles around Remus, then he goes straight for the door and waits there, impatiently, until Remus has pulled on his shoes.

Remus lets Sirius lead the way. He hasn’t had a lot of opportunity to go wherever he wanted to go recently, so Remus is happy to follow. Padfoot bounds through the sand, stopping occasionally to wait for Remus to catch up with him before he starts running again. Eventually, he picks up a small piece of driftwood and carries it to Remus.

“Really?” Remus asks. He has always wondered what changing into an animal is like for his friends. Not painful, certainly. Sirius always joked that the animals they change into have nothing to do with who they are – “James certainly isn’t as majestic as Prongs, if you ask me.” But even though it’s still Sirius who’s looking up at him, Remus isn’t sure if Sirius the human would really want to play fetch, if this isn’t just him showing how happy he is to finally be outside the same way a dog would.

Remus takes the stick from Padfoot with a smile. He runs off barking when Remus throws it and then immediately returns it. Remus scratches him behind the ear and only barely refrains from calling him a good boy. Back in the day, Sirius would have just made fun of him for about a month – he did, actually – but now, Remus thinks, it would make things awkward. There are some things that better stay buried in the past.

After three or four times, Padfood seems to be tired of chasing after a stick and they keep walking until the wind picks up and the clouds are looking a lot darker than earlier. A raindrop lands on Remus’ cheek. “Time to go back,” Remus calls. “Come on, Pads, we’re gonna get all wet.”

Someone who doesn’t know that Padfoot is actually a person might say that he’s an exceptionally well-trained dog, but in truth, Padfoot, like Sirius, only listens when he feels like it. So when they’re back at the cottage, both of them dripping from the rain that started coming down in sheets when they were halfway back, Padfoot simply runs inside, leaving dirty paw prints on the floor, spraying water and wet sand all over the place when he shakes himself. Remus opens his mouth to tell him off, then Sirius is standing in front of him, just as wet as Padfoot.

“That was fun,” Sirius says, smiling broadly. At least one of them doesn’t mind being drenched and having sand plastered all over his clothes. Sirius pulls out his wand and waves it and the dirt is gone, but Remus’ trousers are still uncomfortably wet. “I can take care of dinner,” Sirius says, “I’ll just put on some dry clothes first.”

Remus doesn’t protest, although he should probably be scared that Sirius might burn down the cottage. Eggs, he burnt the eggs every time. And toast. He always got distracted when Remus came shuffling into the kitchen, always abandoned whatever he was cooking in favour of saying good morning. Properly, with kisses and wandering hands. Remus looks down at his feet. He shouldn’t be thinking about the wandering hands. Or the kisses.

* * *

They sit back down in the living room in the evening. Dinner was all right, considering that Sirius made it, which is also what Remus told him. Sirius only laughed and the smile is still not quite gone from his face.

Remus is sipping a cup of tea, and there’s a book in his lap, and the rain is pattering against the windowpane. Sirius is reading a comic that Remus didn’t even know he owned.

“Remus,” Sirius says after a while, “I was just wondering...”

“Yes?” Remus asks. He puts down his book and looks at Sirius, who is once again lounging in the armchair, feet dangling off the armrest.

“I tried to catch up, you know, I read papers whenever I could nick one, but twelve years are twelve years and I.... I missed so much. There’s so much that has changed. Harry is all grown up. I still remember when he spit up all over that terrible jumper you were always wearing.”

“You liked that jumper,” Remus says lightly.

“Harry didn’t.” Sirius laughs. He picks at the hem of his shirt and his smile fades. “You taught him at Hogwarts.”

Remus nods. He hopes that Sirius will get to spend more time with Harry. When his name is cleared, maybe, when all of this is over, but it’s hard to tell how much longer that will take, how much longer Sirius will have to hide.

“Did you ever see him... before?”

“No, I didn’t think it would be a good idea. To be honest, I wouldn’t have known what to tell him. How to explain. Dumbledore didn’t want him to know certain things because he was too young, so I kept my distance.”

“But then you went back to Hogwarts.”

“I did.” Remus didn’t like going back. There were memories lurking in every corner of that castle. Dumbledore promised him that he’d get the Wolfsbane potion every month, free of charge, delivered to his office, and that was what convinced him in the end. He knew he wouldn’t be teaching there for long. As soon as the parents found out what he was, he’d be gone.

“I can imagine you being a teacher,” Sirius says. “It’s the cardigans, I think. Teacher cardigans.”

“I was fired,” Remus says flatly. “Well, I resigned. But if I hadn’t resigned, Dumbledore would have had to fire me.”

Sirius smirks. “For wearing cardigans?”

Remus wants to throw something at him, but he only has the book in his lap, and he doesn’t want to break it, so he rolls his eyes instead. “Do you want me to tell you about Hogwarts? About Harry?”

Sirius sits up and leans closer and Remus starts talking about the Hogwarts Express and the Dementors, mumbling a quick apology when Sirius flinches. Then he tells him about teaching Harry the Paronus charm, and about Harry having the map and James’ cloak. He can’t even remember the last time he talked this much, but Sirius is listening and looking at him intently, so Remus keeps talking and Sirius never looks away.

Eventually, Remus runs out of things to say, because Sirius was there at the end of his year at Hogwarts, so they fall silent, but Sirius is still looking at him. “What did you do before you went to teach at Hogwarts?”

Remus was hoping that he wouldn’t ask this question. He shrugs. “I mostly tried to keep a job. Didn’t really go my way, as you can imagine.”

Sirius nods, then he starts chewing on his bottom lip. He looks like he wants to ask more questions, but he doesn’t. “Remus, I’m sorry.”

Which is an odd thing to say, really. “It’s not your fault.”

“Not about you getting fired. Or your jobs,” Sirius says. He’s not looking at him anymore. “Well, that too. But, you know, when we were... before James and Lily died... for a while, I was actually considering that it might be you. I mean, I knew that it couldn’t be, I knew you and you would have never… anyway, I was just trying to make sense of it all. I don’t think I ever said sorry, did I?”

Remus sighs. “Not your fault either. I thought it was you as well.”

“Yeah, after they shipped me off to Azkaban. And what else would you have thought, anyway? The evidence was... well...” Sirius shakes his head. “I kept thinking of you, couldn’t stop wondering what you were doing, what you were going through.”

Remus exhales slowly. He feared that they would have this conversation at some point, but he would have liked a warning, some time to think of something adequate to say. “I’m sure that whatever I was going through was nothing compared to what you were going through.”

“But you were the only one left, you were... you thought I got them killed.”

“Sirius... this is not...” Remus rubs his hands over his face. It’s not a competition. “It’s over.” He feels like he needs to get up and walk out of the room, because he can’t talk about this anymore, not when he’s spent over a decade trying to forget about it. He has always been very much in favour of talking things through, of clearing the air, but he’ll make an exception this one time. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” It’s barely dark yet, but he’s so tired all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry, Remus, I shouldn’t have–” Sirius falls silent when Remus gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus mutters. “When you go to bed... you don’t have to sleep on the sofa if you don’t want to.” He wants to tell him that he’s welcome to sleep in his bed whether it’s him or Padfoot, but somehow the words won’t come out of his mouth.

It is indeed Padfoot who comes to curl up next to his feet much, much later. Remus is still awake, listening to the rain. “Goodnight, Pads,” he whispers. He’s not even sure if Sirius can hear him over the rain, but Padfoot nudges his foot, so maybe he has forgiven Remus for walking out on him earlier.

* * *

“I was going to go into town today,” is the first thing Remus says to Sirius the next morning. They need more food and there’s a Muggle town not too far from the cottage.

Sirius is already in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. He somehow looks surprised to find Remus standing in the doorway. He clears his throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Anything I can get for you?” Remus asks.

“No, I... we’re out of eggs.”

“Eggs, then.” Remus will just stock up on food for the next couple of days. Usually he’d apparate, but the rain has let up and he thinks that Sirius might appreciate another chance to get out of the house. “It’s a Muggle town, you know. You could come, as Padfoot, if you don’t mind walking. It’s a little over a mile from here.”

Sirius stares at him like he can’t quite figure out what Remus is saying to him. “Do you want me to come?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Remus says. He goes to make himself some toast. “Have you eaten?”

Sirius nods and takes another sip of his tea. “I saved you some bread. We should probably get some more of that, too.”

“Anything else?”

“A newspaper, maybe?”

Remus nods. He’ll have to get a Muggle newspaper, but he’s sure that he’ll be able to get Sirius a _Daily Prophet_ from somewhere. Remus makes a mental note of that. “I’ll make soup later.”

“You’re good at soup,” Sirius says, eyes quickly darting away from Remus like he’s scared that Remus will walk out again at the mention of their past.

“Soup is the only thing I’m actually good at,” Remus only says. He doesn’t want Sirius to think that they can’t talk about things. The point is that Sirius has nothing to apologise for. Of course Remus was angry, and hurt, and confused, but he knows the truth now and it’s pointless to dwell on a past they can’t change.

Sirius’ foot brushes against his under the table, but it’s gone a moment later. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re good at a lot of things.” It sounds like it should be accompanied by a wink, but Sirius isn’t even looking at him.

Remus quickly finishes his breakfast and makes a remark about how the weather’s a lot nicer than last night. Sirius mumbles a reply and then shifts into Padfoot and goes to lie down in the sunny patch on the living room rug while Remus gets ready to go into town.

It’s a nice walk and Sirius stays right next to him and patiently waits outside the shop while Remus buys food with the leftover Muggle money he has. They take their time on the walk back; Remus has all those bags to carry and Padfoot looks tired.

When they’re back at the cottage, Sirius changes back quickly, picking at his hand. “Must have stepped into something.”

“Let me see,” Remus says, fingers curling around Sirius’ wrist. There’s a small shard of glass stuck in his palm. “I got it,” he mutters and quickly pulls it out. “You’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure that it’s not a fatal wound,” Sirius says dryly.

“Fairly sure, yes.”

“Oh, but Remus,” Sirius says and sinks into one of the kitchen chairs with the most dramatic sigh, “I feel faint.”

Remus gives him a look and he’s sure that it’s fond more than anything else, but he can’t really be annoyed at himself for it right now. Not when Sirius is being overdramatic in his kitchen and he wants to laugh because he missed this _so_ much.

“Oh dear, whatever am I going to do with you,” Remus says and stuffs a biscuit into Sirius’ mouth in an attempt to shut him up.

Sirius splutters and biscuit crumbs go flying all over the kitchen table. “Nice one, Remus.”

“Just let me make lunch, all right?” Remus says and turns away from Sirius. He really wants to ask Dumbledore how much longer they’ll have to stay here, because he doesn’t seem to be dealing very well with being stuck in a tiny cottage with Sirius.

And Sirius seems to want to make it even worse for him, because suddenly he’s standing next to Remus, helping him pull food out of bags. “Do you need any help?”

“With lunch?” Remus asks.

“With anything, really,” Sirius says. “I feel sort of useless, to be honest. All I did since I got here was break your television.”

“I told you, it was already broken,” Remus mumbles. He knows that Sirius is only moderately interested in his books and he’s wracking his brains to find something else for Sirius to do. “Actually... if you want to...” This is a terrible idea, but at least it’ll give Sirius something to occupy himself with for a while. “There’s a box in the storage cupboard out in the hall. A big one. It has your name on it.”

“A box,” Sirius echoes. “What kind of box?”

“A box with things in it,” Remus says. He doesn’t want to explain. Sirius will see for himself. “ _Your_ things.”

“You kept my things?”

Remus can’t look at him. “A few of them. Go ahead, take a look.”

He tries very hard not to concentrate on Sirius rummaging through the box out in the hall, but he smiles when Sirius quietly says, “ _Oh_.” A moment later, Sirius comes prancing into the kitchen, wearing his old leather jacket. “You kept this. Of all of my clothes, you kept _this_.”

“It’s very you,” Remus says lowly and he’s not even sure what he’s trying to say with that, but Sirius would have slept in that stupid jacket if it was in any way comfortable, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, so he stuffed it into a box. He’d intended for it to stay in there forever.

Sirius laughs and Remus can see him hovering in the doorway out of the corner of his eye. “Do you have the boots somewhere, too?”

“No, sorry,” Remus says to the pot on the stove.

“Too bad,” Sirius says, voice already disappearing into the hallway, “then I would have just needed the bike.”

Hagrid still has the bike, probably. He would give it back if Sirius asked, Remus is sure. Sirius makes another delighted noise and for the first time Remus is glad that he didn’t just leave it all behind. He’s not even entirely sure what he kept. The jacket, of course, a couple of records, maybe some of their old Hogwarts things, he doesn’t remember.

“Weren’t you supposed to give that prefect badge back when we left school?”

Right, he kept that one. Remus huffs out a laugh. After that Sirius is very quiet; it’s a big box, he has a lot of things to look at. When lunch is ready, Remus calls his name, but Sirius doesn’t answer and he doesn’t come padding into the kitchen, so Remus goes to check on him.

Sirius is sitting on the living room floor, with the box, staring down at a photo. When Remus steps up behind him, he sees that it’s one from James and Lily’s wedding, of him and Sirius and James and Peter, all of them pulling silly faces and happily waving up at Sirius.

Remus clears his throat. “I don’t have all of them anymore. Hagrid, he made an album for Harry and asked for pictures.” Sirius doesn’t say anything, so Remus mumbles, “Lunch is ready, if you’re hungry.”

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, the smile from when he’d found the leather jacket wiped off his face. “I told Harry he could come home with me, you know? After we found Peter at Hogwarts. I thought I could... well, I would make a terrible dad, but those people he’s staying with... I hate leaving him there.”

“Dumbledore thinks it’s for the best,” Remus says, but he doesn’t like it any more than Sirius does.

“Well, Dumbledore can suck my–”

“Sirius, come on,” Remus says, and ushers Sirius over to the table, “he’s just trying to keep him safe. Maybe we can invite him to visit us when we know what exactly is going on.”

“Yeah, and when is that going to be?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says lowly. He understands Sirius’ impatience, but for now there is nothing they can do until Dumbledore has called the Order back together. Remus can already guess his role in Dumbledore’s plans. He’s sent Hagrid to the giants; Remus knows where he will be going. There’ll be no more Wolfsbane potion for him, then. His fingers tighten around his spoon.

“It’s not that I don’t like it here,” Sirius says, smiling wryly.

“Maybe we could write to Harry. We’ll have to be careful about what we say, but I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

Sirius’ smile is suddenly twice as broad. “And you. Probably. I mean, maybe he still remembers that terrible jumper and doesn’t want to associate with you.”

“Shut up,” Remus says and kicks Sirius in the shin under the table.

“Hey, I’m injured already,” Sirius says, “you might want to be a little gentler, I’m in a very fragile state right now.”

“Yes, Sirius Black, the most delicate flower,” Remus says, rolling his eyes as he clears away their plates with his wand. “So, what’s the plan for this afternoon? Are you done looking through the box?”

“Not quite,” Sirius says. “It’s fine, I can entertain myself while you work.”

No more than five minutes later, Remus is sitting next to Sirius, looking at old photographs with him. He started working, but then Sirius was laughing himself silly and Remus was too curious not to check what on earth he’d found. Sirius unearthed a picture of himself and James, twelve years old, brooms in hand.

“I spent that summer at the Potters’,” Sirius says when Remus sits down next to him. “Well, nearly the whole summer. And you were there, weren’t you?”

“For about a week, sometime between full moons,” Remus mutters. He taps on the picture. “We nearly burnt down that shed, remember?”

Sirius elbows him in the ribs. “Yeah, because _you_ wanted to practise spells.”

Well, Remus successfully blocked out that particular fact. Until now. “James said it was his fault.”

“Yeah, he often took credit for the best of our work,” Sirius says wistfully. He reaches into the box and pulls out another stack of pictures. “Oh, look, it’s little Harry. I can’t believe he was so tiny and now he’s...”

“Not tiny anymore,” Remus says with a laugh. There are a lot of pictures of Harry, some of them move, some of them were obviously taken with the Muggle camera that Sirius bought at some second hand shop in London.

Remus jumps when Sirius pulls a photo out of the pile with a loud, “Ha!” It only takes him a moment to figure out why Sirius is looking so gleeful. On the photo is Remus and he’s holding Harry, who looks terribly displeased. And Remus is wearing _the jumper_.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it was really that horrible,” Remus mutters, “but it quite obviously was.”

Sirius laughs and hands him another picture of the wedding. “You did look quite dashing sometimes,” he says. Once again, it’s that tone of voice, so familiar, and Remus can very clearly see a seventeen-year-old Sirius Black winking at him suggestively.

Remus ignores the flutter in the pit of his stomach and peers into the almost empty box. There’s barely anything left, except for a Hogwarts scarf that has a tiny hole burnt into it – Sirius’ scarf that had an unfortunate run-in with a cigarette – and a small photo strip from a Muggle photo booth. The first photo is just the two of them smiling, in the second one they’re laughing, in the third one Sirius is saying something, in the fourth they’re kissing.

“What’s tha– _oh_.” Sirius’ hand freezes mid-air. “That. I forgot about that.”

Remus smiles down at the pictures. “So did I.” It’s just another one of those things that he buried deep.

“I threw up on your shoes about ten minutes after we took these.”

“Yes, that’s a particularly fond memory of mine,” Remus says.

Sirius laughs again and snatches the photo strip from him. “My hair looked great.”

It wasn’t just his hair, and it wasn’t just Remus who noticed that. Which was why Remus was so surprised that he was the one Sirius showed an interest in. He glances at Sirius, who is still staring down at the pictures. Then he puts the photo strip on the pile next to him. Over and done with.

“Weren’t you gonna do work?” Sirius asks, smirking at him. Remus is glad that he doesn’t say anything else about the photos.

“Well, it’s a Saturday...” Remus shrugs. He’s almost done with what he’s working on and then he won’t have anything new coming in for a while. “How about we go on another walk later? Or just outside...”

Sirius nods. “Sure, yeah.”

Remus has a feeling that they’re getting a lot better at not talking about the things that they probably _should_ talk about at some point.

Sirius turns into Padfoot when they leave the cottage and they walk up and down the beach for a bit – not too long because Sirius is still _wounded_. When they get back to the cottage, Remus sits down on the bench in the back while Padfoot runs towards the water, barking at the waves before he runs in, water splashing.

Remus watches him with a smile on his face. He’s not surprised when it’s Sirius who’s standing in the waves all of a sudden. Remus wants to run in with him, but decides to keep his distance.

* * *

Remus turns over, pulls at the sheets. He’s restless, tossing and turning, drifting in and out of sleep. There are footsteps on the tiled kitchen floor, but it’s not the kitchen of the cottage, it’s the kitchen of a tiny flat in London. Arms wrap around him from behind, a nose buries itself in Remus’ hair, warm lips press a kiss to the nape of his neck. Sirius hums, lightly pushing against him. “You should come back to bed.”

“It’s almost noon,” Remus says, but the lips on his neck are rather insistent and Remus is inclined to give in to them. He almost always does.

Remus turns around and a still sleepy Sirius melts against him and– Thunder crashes. No, that’s not right. Remus blinks into the darkness of his room. Because that’s where he is, in his room, in the cottage. Not in London.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room and Padfoot twitches at Remus’ feet when there’s another clash of thunder. Remus is pretty sure that Sirius is rather indifferent towards thunderstorms, but Padfoot obviously doesn’t like them all that much. Or maybe he’s dreaming again.

Remus sits up, not sure if he should wake him up. When Padfoot whines in his sleep, Remus gives him a nudge to wake him up. “Come up here,” Remus mumbles. He left one side of the bed empty for Sirius again, even though he did suspect that he would sleep as Padfoot at the end of the bed just like the previous nights.

Padfoot crawls out from under his blanket and comes to lie next to him after a moment’s hesitation. The next time thunder booms, Remus reaches out to stroke Padfoot’s fur. This might be easier if Sirius weren’t so insistent on sleeping as a dog, although he must have a good reason for it. Remus doesn’t want to pry. He knows that Sirius will talk to him if he wants to. “You know,” Remus mumbles, “I don’t remember Sirius being afraid of thunder.”

“Sirius isn’t, but Padfoot is,” Sirius says. He’s changed so quickly that Remus’ hand is still resting on his side. Remus slowly pulls it away and Sirius turns over, regarding him for a long moment. “It’s a dog thing. Like the overwhelming need to play fetch.”

“Well, I suppose it’s better if you don’t sleep as Padfoot tonigh, then.”

“I can go sleep on the sofa.”

“Why would you...” The rest of Remus’ words get lost in the rumbling thunder that follows. “Sirius, you don’t have to sleep on the sofa, I told you.”

“You told _Padfoot_ ,” Sirius says.

“Padfoot _is_ you,” Remus mumbles. “Just go to sleep.”

Sirius moves to reach for the blanket Padfoot has been sleeping under, but Remus just pulls at the sheets.

“If you weren’t lying on these, you wouldn’t have to use that ratty blanket.”

“I like that ratty blanket,” Sirius says, but quickly slips under the covers.

Remus’ bed seems really small all of a sudden. Their bed in London was the same size, although back then Remus didn’t mind waking up with their limbs tangled and with Sirius’ hair in his face. He didn’t try so hard to keep some space between them.

He’s almost sure that Sirius has fallen asleep when he says, “Remus?”

“Hm?”

“When I don’t sleep as Padfoot, sometimes... not every night, but sometimes, I dream of... you know... Padfoot does too, but it’s different. Not as vivid. It’s bearable, I suppose. So if I...”

“I’ll wake you up,” Remus says. He turns, fingers brushing against Sirius’ arm. He leaves them there and Sirius doesn’t scoot away.

When Remus wakes up, his arm is wrapped around Sirius’ waist and Sirius is snoring and the sun is barely up yet, so Remus decides to ignore all of that. He leaves his arm right where it is, because Sirius obviously doesn’t mind and Remus is not awake enough to realise that he’s making a terrible decision.

He doesn’t quite go back to sleep, he’s just dozing, so when Sirius rolls over and presses his nose into his upper arm and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _Moony_ , Remus nearly jumps right out of bed. But part of him also wants to stay and have one last peaceful Sunday morning with Sirius, because they didn’t get the one the day after Halloween 1981, the one they were supposed to have. Remus was supposed to come back from his mission on Sunday morning and he would have slipped into bed and curled up next to Sirius and he would have stayed there as long as he could.

So he remains where he is, frozen, trying to convince himself that this isn’t going to end well and that he needs to get up. He never quite manages.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” Sirius mumbles, voice heavy with sleep.

“Yes, and so are you.”

Sirius grumbles something that’s probably supposed to tell Remus that he’s not actually awake. Remus gives him another moment. He doesn’t want to run out on him again because he’s scared of his own feelings. Sirius deserves better.

“So...” Sirius says after a while. “Guess I should have slept on the sofa.”

“I told you, the sofa is horrible,” Remus says. He pulls away, sucks in a deep breath, and climbs out of bed. “I’ll go make breakfast.” He hears Sirius sigh, but he doesn’t look back and heads for the bathroom. When he gets to the kitchen he finds his owl waiting for him outside the window.

Remus lets her inside and reads the rather short letter she’s brought him. It’s unsigned but Remus recognises Dumbledore’s handwriting. He’s contacted all the former members of the Order, but is still looking for a place for them to meet. Headquarters. Remus would offer the cottage, but he highly doubts that it’s big enough.

He can hear Sirius shuffling into the kitchen and then he’s standing right next to him and Remus almost expects his arms to sneak around his waist, but Sirius only clears his throat. “News?”

“They’re looking for headquarters for the Order,” Remus says, hands the letter to Sirius and then moves to make breakfast.

 Sirius hums, there’s parchment rustling, and then he’s next to Remus again. “Sorry about... before.”

“There’s no need for you to apologise.” Remus cracks a couple of eggs into a pan. “Really.”

“You were uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t,” Remus says defiantly. And yet he wishes that Sirius would take a step back because all Remus can think about is kissing him. Kissing all day and all night, and tomorrow, and the day after, and he doesn’t want to think about that at all.

Sirius is staring at him and that doesn’t exactly make things easier for Remus, because all he’d have to do is give in and lean closer and before he can stop himself he’s halfway there already and Sirius’ fingers curl into his shirt and then he’s kissing him and for a glorious moment Remus stops thinking.

“Still good at that, I see,” Sirius whispers against his lips. “Had much practise?”

“Not quite,” Remus says. Before Sirius can comment on that, Remus kisses him again, because now that he’s started, he doesn’t want to stop ever again. Sirius pulls him closer, as close as he possibly can, kisses the corner of his mouth and then his jaw, and Remus holds on to him, because it’s really the only thing he’s able to do right now.

Eventually Sirius stills. “The eggs are burning.”

Technically it’s not Sirius who burnt the food, but Remus decides that it’s his fault, still. Actually, Remus couldn’t care less about the eggs. But he doesn’t want the cottage to burn down, so he turns away from Sirius to take care of the mess he’s made and then starts yet another attempt at making breakfast.

He still can’t focus, because now Sirius does wrap his arms around him and he kisses the back of his neck, stubble grazing against Remus’ skin. Remus squirms and pushes at Sirius’ hand. “If you don’t want me to ruin breakfast _again_ , you might want to stop doing that.”

Sirius sighs and takes a step back, hand lingering on Remus’ hip for a moment before it’s gone. “Before you tell me that you want to talk about this, because I’m pretty sure that you do want to talk about this, can I just suggest that we could do the talking in bed?”

Remus isn’t sure if there’s anything to say, other than _this could turn out to be the biggest mistake we’ve ever made in our lives_. They’ve spent over a decade apart, there are things that they may never tell each other, they’re not the same people they used to be. They’re not kids anymore. And yet.

Sirius looks thoughtful, too, but when he sees that Remus is looking at him, he smiles. “You worry too much.”

“I remember you saying that exact same thing about five minutes before James walked in on us,” Remus says. “Honestly, Sirius, this is... Things have changed. _We_ have changed.”

“I do admit that I’m not quite as handsome as I used to be,” Sirius says and now he does wink at him. “Although the kissing wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it wasn’t so bad,” Remus says. Maybe they could have this Sunday morning. Maybe they could have more than one. Even now, even after all these years.

“So, let’s do that again,” Sirius says with the same confidence as his 17-year-old self who proposed the exact same thing after he kissed Remus breathless in a broom cupboard. “Preferably right now.”

Remus manages not to give in entirely and keeps Sirius at an arm’s length while he finishes breakfast and successfully puts their plates and two cups of tea on a tray before Sirius can try to steal a kiss.

They don’t really have breakfast in bed, because Sirius abandons his food halfway in favour of getting Remus to do exactly the same. Remus does finish his eggs, but leaves the toast and half of his tea, because he did miss kissing Sirius more than he cares to admit and while he’s done a rather good job of shutting all that out, he might as well allow himself to have this.

He has no idea where they’re going to go from here and he’s not sure if they’re going to have time to figure it out. Remus sighs against Sirius’ lips and then buries his face in the crook of Sirius’ neck.

Sirius runs his fingers through his hair. “Tired already?” he asks, his tone playful.

“I’m an old man now,” Remus says dryly.

Sirius laughs, his hand slowly wandering down Remus’ back, then he freezes.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks.

“My parents’ house.”

Remus sits up and frowns. “Your parents’ house?”

“Dumbledore is looking for headquarters. We could use my parents’ house. I doubt that the Ministry still has eyes on it, they probably don’t even think that I’m in the country. The house is hidden from Muggles already, and we could make sure that only members of the Order can see it.”

“Are you sure?” Remus doesn’t know much about Sirius’ family. He never met his parents, but he still remembers how much Sirius hated going home for the holidays. He ran away from home when he was sixteen and as far as Remus knows he never had any intention of going back there.

“I won’t be able to do much for the Order for now,” Sirius says, “but that’s something I can contribute.”

Remus nods. So Sirius is going to leave after he’s only been here for a couple of days. He knew that this was going to hurt. “Do you want to write to Dumbledore?”

“Not today,” Sirius says.

So they’ll at least have their Sunday.

“Are you going to stay here?” Sirius asks.

“Here?”

“Yes, _here_ ,” Sirius says, sounding impatient. “Or can I interest you in a pureblood family mansion that is probably very slowly rotting away? And maybe good old Mummy’s ghost is floating around, waiting for me to come back, so she can call me a blood-traitor to my face one more time.”

“It does sound like an utterly charming place,” Remus says. But it doesn’t really matter what that place looks like, or if the ghost of Sirius’ dead mother is floating around, Remus is still inclined to go with him.

Sirius pokes him in the ribs. “Think about it.”

Truth is, Remus has already made up his mind. They’re going to go back to London, the two of them. And they’re going to live in that ghastly old house and they’re going to fight another war.

And they’re going to have a few more Sundays.


End file.
